


In Nomine Patris

by ScribbleWillow (Soul_in_the_Starlight)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Daddy Issues, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:38:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_in_the_Starlight/pseuds/ScribbleWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who does a girl turn to for comfort, when she's so far from home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Nomine Patris

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a fill for the Eleventh doctor kink-meme on Livejournal, for this prompt:
> 
> Amy/Bracewell. I DON'T CARE HOW, JUST MAKE IT WORK. (Bonus points for daddy issues?)

They both watch Churchill leave the room, the smell of his cigar slowly fading.  
  
"Thank you, Amy," says Bracewell, those beautiful eyes of hers smiling back at him so kindly.  
  
"No problem, Paisley," she replies, reaching out a hand and squeezing his arm.  
  
"Would you care to stay and help me, this might take a while, I could use the company," he hopes he doesn't sound desperate, but he really hasn't felt like someone cared in such a long while...  
  
Amy shrugs.  
  
"Sure, why not? It's not like I'll be going anywhere til the Doctor gets back." She perches against the edge of his desk, those long slender legs displayed beneath that tiny skirt; where on _earth_ is it considered decent for a pretty young thing to show herself so blatantly?  
  
He starts working as best as he can with one hand, directing her to help him when he can't manage. They work mostly in silence, except for her questions about the technology and his explanations. They work well together.  
  
"This is nice," she says, out of the blue, "hearing a Sottish accent after all this time, reminds me of..." she stops, swallowing and then clears her throat.  
  
He looks at her over the top of his spectacles.  
  
"Reminds you of what, my dear?" She looks lost suddenly, her earlier confidence slipping.  
  
"Oh, nothing, doesn't matter," she folds her arms and looks into the distance, her eyes screwed shut.  
  
"I'm a good listener, Amy, and I agree, hearing a home accent is a pleasant change, so if you want to talk about whatever it is, I'm definitely all ears." He hopes she does want to talk, he can stand to listen to her lilting tones all day.  
  
Amy sighs, it's melancholy, wistful, and stirs his own longing.  
  
"It reminds me of my dad. I haven't heard his voice in such a long time..." she stops again, unable to finish. There's a tiny waiver in her voice, and Bracewell puts down his screwdriver and takes her hand.  
  
"You obviously miss him," he looks at her kindly, squeezing her hand.  
  
"Very much," she says, and wraps her fingers around his, catching his eye.  
  
"I'm such a long way from home right now. And if the Doctor..." she can't quite bring herself to say it, but he knows what she's inferring.  
  
"If he doesn't come back, I'll be stuck here, all alone." She looks at him with big frightened eyes, and he lets go of her hand, reaching up to put an arm around her shoulder instead. She leans in to him, trembling, the enormity of the fear overwhelming her.  
  
"I don't belong here, I'm a _stranger_ , I don't know what I'd do."  
  
He smiles again, wryly. He knows how she feels.  
  
"I'm sure the Prime Minister would make arrangements for you, Amy, you mustn't worry yourself."  
  
"He _left_ me," she blurts, and suddenly she's wrapping her arms around his neck, clinging. He knows she isn't talking about the Doctor.  
  
He completes the embrace, even using his damaged arm to steady her trembling.  
  
"It's going to be alright, Amy," but he feels her shake her head.  
  
"No, don't say that, people _always_ say that, and it isn't always true."  
  
And then she's kissing him desperately for a fleeting moment, before wrapping herself even more tightly around him.  
  
"Say my name again, tell me you'll look after me."  
  
He's reeling from the kiss, his lone hand sliding beneath her leather jacket to stroke her back, soothingly.  
  
"Oh, Amy, my precious girl, I will; I will look after you, you don't have to worry."  
  
She lifts her head from where it's buried in his neck, and looks at him for a long, timeless moment.  
  
"Make me feel safe," she whispers, planting a kiss at the corner of his mouth.  
  
He closes his eyes, not daring to hope that she's asking what he thinks she might be, her breath warm against his skin as she kisses her way along his cheek towards his earlobe.  
  
"Oh Amy, _Amy_..." his voice is rough with emotion as he allows the hand at her back to slide downwards, gently cupping the curve of her backside, fingers slipping lower to lift the hem of her tiny skirt, curling back under it to smooth across the nylon encasing the firm roundness of it.  
  
"Make me feel safe," she repeats, pleading, "make me feel _wanted_."

 

She's peppering his face with kisses, and he feels himself stirring; the Daleks had spared no detail when they made him.  
  
He hands are on his neck, loosening his tie, picking at the buttons on his shirt. Damn this shattered hand, he wants to run both of them over her soft curves and tangle them in that glorious mane of hair.  
  
"Call me your precious girl again," she whispers coaxingly, "tell me I'm your darling," she brings her hands down between their bodies, to his trouser belt. His hand is still on her buttock, pressing her to him, and he relaxes his hold so she can undo the belt and then his trousers. She reaches inside, and pulls his cock free with an appreciative moan. The Daleks had been fairly generous.  
  
"Oh, Amy, my _precious girl_ , my _darling_ girl, what do you need from me?" the question is unexpected and she feels a rush of wetness between her thighs.  
  
"I need you inside me, Paisley, that's what I need." for a moment, the frightened girl is gone, and he sees the lust in her eyes.Then she's pulled away, kicking off her boots, ripping off the tights and her knickers, and now she's leaning forward over his desk, sweeping plans and components on to the floor, hitching her skirt, her pale, smooth behind on display.  
  
"It's all yours, Paisley," she looks back at him over her shoulder, her hips slowly undulating. She pouts, provocatively and he's completely undone.  
  
He runs his hand down around the curve of her behind and keeps going, down underneath where he can feels the warmth radiating from her, feel the moisture gathered in her soft curls. He swallows hard and nudges her thighs apart with his knee.  
  
She closes her eyes as his fingers dip inside her briefly, and then bends lower over the desk, raising her hips to give him better access as he parts her legs.  
  
"You're a _wicked_ creature, Amy Pond, I'm old enough to be your _father_..." he pulls his trousers and underpants down further, positioning himself behind her, bending his knees, and guiding himself into her using his fingers to find the way.  
  
"Keep telling me that, Paisley," she hisses from between clenched teeth, rising on tiptoe to ease his entry even further, gripping the far edge of the table and letting out a very unladylike groan as he enters her with a sudden hard thrust.  
  
"Oh God, that is _superb_ ," she says loudly, pushing her hips back to meet him as he starts moving inside her; she feels so soft, yet tight and warm, deliciously wet, the slick sucking sounds mingling with their pants and moans in the quiet of the bunker.  
  
Amy is enjoying this, but she needs to hear him speak, needs to hear that voice, needs to be reminded of home, because it might be all she has left if the Doctor doesn't come back.  
  
"Tell me you love me," she demands, slamming her hips back hard against him.  
  
"I don't care that it's not true, I just need to _hear_ it, I need to hear you _say_ it; tell me you love me, that I'm your precious little girl, that you won't ever _leave_ me..."He groans. Right now he'll tell her _anything_ damned thing she wants to hear; that day is night, up is down, _anything_ to keep himself buried inside this beautiful young woman as she writhes and squirms over his desk, her smooth arse bouncing against him, long legs trembling against his thighs as he clumsily takes her.  
  
She cries out, overcome even by the largely uncoordinated sensations Bracewell's cock is inflicting upon her, his working hand reaching up to grab a handful of her long hair, wrapping it around his fingers and pulling on it, bringing her head back towards him. He leans in close, slowing his thrusts, make it gentler now as he brings his head down towards her ear:  
  
"I love you Amy, my precious, my _beautiful_ little girl, you're my whole world, my everything, and I will never _ever_ leave you..."  
  
His breath tickles her ear, but his words... his voice, it pours down through her core like quicksilver, bright shining words of adoration, that comforting, familiar accent wrapping around her like a blanket even as he speeds up the pace of his thrusting again. She feels safe, she feels loved, she feels at home.  
  
Nearly there, Oh God, she is nearly there; this is what she wants, this is why she kisses strangers for money, why she spent her whole life pining for the kindness of the Doctor, who has now abandoned her again, just like he had done all those years ago... all she wants is for her daddy to come home.  
  
"You're daddy's special girl."  
  
The words came out of nowhere, and she gasps as her body tenses around him and she comes; hard and fast and overwhelmingly, Bracewell chanting her name like a litany as his own fierce spasms take hold.  
  
Her knees give way as he pulls back out of her, but he catches her, his good arm around her waist. he steadies her upright, and turns her, backing her up to the table where she perches on the edge once more.  
  
She's crying.  
  
No sobs, just the tears, pooled in her eyes and spilling over onto those freckled cheeks. He moves to embrace her, but she pulls away, sitting back on the table, scooting back far enough that she can lie back, propped up on her elbows.  
  
She parts her thighs.  
  
He can see the trails of moisture leaking from her, the auburn curls dark and shiny.  
  
"Tell me again, Paisley," she whispers, eyes bright with tears, pleading. She lifts her hips, hinting to him. He runs his hand along her thigh, dipping his head down to her mound, tongue sweeping across her damp, swollen lips.  
  
"You're daddy's special girl..."


End file.
